


Violence

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, BDSM, M/M, Non Consensual, Violence, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-20
Updated: 2006-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I started writing this at the beach and it took on a mind of its own.  I've been sitting on it for a while because the last two parts are pretty heavy.  If you like BDSM and some violence, but not the super heavy stuff or the non con, I STRONGLY suggest you read the first four sections and then stop.  Each pair can easily be read as a stand-alone.  That said... herein lies a take on violence, three situations from six perspectives.  I hope you enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violence

I.

"I want you to hit me."

The first time Billy asked, his eyes were dark with lust, his arms stretched forwards as if the wrists were held by invisible cuffs, and his back arched like a cat. The roar of the waves, which were blurry in the moonlight but located somewhere beyond the open bedroom window, was thunder in Dom's ear. He briefly contemplated how strange it was to be seeing the Atlantic from the other side. And then he struck.

That first time, Billy's satisfied cry was high pitched and keening, and Dom couldn't help but stare at the way Billy's arse wriggled back towards Dom's hand in preparation for another blow.

"Don't move."

Dom's voice was low, precise. Billy's body stilled immediately, but Dom suspected he was more afraid of his own commanding tone than Dom himself. _This is what Billy wants_, he vaguely registered somewhere in the recesses of his brain as the sharp smacking sound of flesh on flesh again occupied the room.

Billy's fists tightened in the sheets, and his hips bent slightly, his arse pushing up just a bit. Dom vaguely registered two things—one, how beautiful Billy's skin appeared against cool white sheets, almost tanned with the faint blossoming of pink on his backside; two, that Billy wanted him to react—and then he said it.

"This is what you want, isn't it? You want to nark me off so that I'll punish you." Beat. "Slut."

He waited, breath drawn, prepared to back-pedal and tone down the situation. Billy's body went completely still, and then—

"Yes."

A reverent whisper, the import of it so intoxicating that Dom's flat palm came down before he had a chance to consider the action.

"You. Will. Stay. Still," Dom commanded, punctuating each word with a sharp smack. "Was that what you wanted, hmm? Answer me!" Dom was faintly disturbed by the fact that his own cock was hard, that he wanted to see the pearly contrast of come on the reddened flesh of Billy's arse.

"Yes. Please," Billy begged, nothing but a hoarse whisper. Dom noted that his body was perfectly still. It wasn't enough.

"Well then you'll fucking get it," Dom growled, flipping Billy over forcibly so that he wouldn't be so tempted to consider Billy's arse as a canvas, ready to be marked blood-red. Instead, his senses were assaulted by the smell of Billy's arousal, angry red and dripping; the sight of Billy's stiff nipples and dark eyes. Billy was more aroused than Dom had seen him. His face, haloed by moonlight, was beautiful. So Dom slapped it.

"You like that, too?"

The question was rhetorical—Dom was already coming in again, backhanding him this time, and Billy was _moaning_ as he was smacked, hips wriggling again. A dull part of Dom's consciousness reminded him that Billy was actually pressing his reddened arse purposefully against the mattress with these movements, but he chose to ignore it.

"I told you not to fucking move!"

Dom's fingers latched onto Billy's hips, hard enough to bruise, and Billy let out a whimper. Before he could consider his actions, Dom was backhanding Billy's cock.

They stared at each other. One, two, three. It was hot, hungry. Dom might have gone too far—last chance to back down, and they both knew it.

Dom swallowed Billy's cock.

Billy was gasping, his back arching, his head thrown back. Dom's hands still held his hips, and Dom took Billy's cock until his throat began to constrict.

He knew when Billy was close, and in that moment he had to see Billy's eyes, Billy's face, knew he had to see Billy come. One hand lashed out, quick as anything, grabbed Billy's chin, and forced his head down until Billy was staring at Dom, wide-eyed.

Billy came.

It wasn't until they were spooning beneath the now-warm white sheets, Dom's fingers lovingly stroking against Billy's bruises, that the rush of the waves began to filter back into his consciousness. He used the lubed fingers of the other hand to open Billy up, and then began the dull push into Billy's arse, soothing him with whispers that completely contradicted what had just happened.

Or maybe not.

II.

"I want you to hit me."

Billy wasn't sure if it was the change in scenery—a rented cottage on the East Coast of the US that they were sharing for a week—or some other factor that gave him the courage. However, the coincidental change in position that occurred in an otherwise run-of-the-mill snogging session and landed him on his stomach, naked, stretched out, Dom looming over him, was too good to ignore.

His desires weren't exactly suppressed, but they weren't _ex_pressed, either. And yet, Dom or something in him seemed to know what to do, and the first smack was delicious—not too soft, well aimed, serious. Billy moaned, and arched back, non-verbally requesting more. He couldn't help it.

"Don't move."

Billy wanted to groan at the thickness of mingled lust and power in Dom's voice, wanted to say, "Yes! That's it. That's exactly it, Dommeh." But his vocal chords were stapled shut, and all he could do was obey and brace himself.

The second smack was as confident as the first, right side this time, which Billy was able to predict by the slight sideways shift of Dom's body before it came. He grabbed the sheets hard, feeling his body tense and his senses heighten. When another blow was not forthcoming, he couldn't help it. He pushed back.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" _Yes_. "You want to nark me off so that I'll punish you?" Dom's voice was sexy, sarcastic, knowing. "Slut." Oh, _yes_.

"Yes."

Five sharp smacks, each pushing Billy's cock into the mattress as he held onto the sheets for dear life and thanked Dom in his head for every strike.

"You. Will. Stay. Still." Billy's breath caught in his throat, his cock swelling painfully at the primal force of classic conditioning. "Was that what you wanted, hmm? Answer me!"

Dom was a little frantic now; Billy could tell. Billy had pushed him, and he didn't know what to think. Didn't know why he _wanted_ to be so violent. It was unmistakably hot.

"Yes," Billy agreed, his tone pleading, stilling his muscles carefully. "Please."

"Well, then you'll fucking get it."

Billy was almost shocked by Dom's gruff tone, surprised when he was flipped over, and the cool air on his erection was a strange relief. He stared at Dom, and watched the change happen.

"You like that, too?"

Billy barely had time to realize that Dom was smacking his _face_ before he did it again. And it was hot, God, a first for Billy that he was more than happy to allow Dom. He moaned as the pain in his cheeks went from fire to vague warmth, and shifted as his body surged with the desire to submit, the additional pain in his arse refreshing.

"I told you not to fucking move!"

Billy's eyes went wide, and he whimpered like a wounded animal when Dom grabbed him possessively by the hips, fingers digging in deep. So fucking _good_.

And then the back of Dom's hand made contact with Billy's cock, and it was almost too much. But he didn't hit hard; it was more the glance of cool metal rings against sensitive skin that made it painful, and then so fucking perfect.

Billy's mind was racing to catch up to what was happening to him, but it was so fucking great that Dom could stay one step ahead of him like this, and that hadn't happened in so long. Billy was overwhelmed that kink could feel so _new_, and as his eyes connected with Dom's, no words needed to be spoken.

When Dom's lips finally slipped around him, it felt more like the satisfying conclusion of all these remarkable pleasures than the main event. Billy had to work to gulp in air, zeroing his focus on his hips, on Dom's hands, and he couldn't look, couldn't look, couldn't…

Oh, fuck.

He briefly registered the bruising grip on his jaw before he locked with Dom's eyes again, cobalt and passionate, above the lips that greedily sucked on Billy's erection, and then all he saw was stars.

Later, his arse opened easily as Dom prepped him one-handed, and he sighed at the perfection of Dom's fingers stroking his bruised hip and the sheet's edge caressing his side. Dom made love to him slowly, letting him listen to the roar of the ocean as he was penetrated, and it was nearly twenty minutes of excruciatingly slow strokes, sometimes stopping altogether when Dom got too close, before he finally whispered "come," and Billy did.

When Billy fell asleep, Dom was still softening inside him.

 

III.

"You are such a slut," Orlando joked, playfully, as he fidgeted with the keys to his London flat, Elijah's small hands already at the waistband of his trousers.

"You, too." Orlando smiled at the affectionate tone as Elijah nuzzled the top of Orlando's spine with his cheek, and finally got the lock to engage.

"Come on in. Can I get you anything?"

"You." Elijah's eyes were pale fire. "Too fucking long, Elf-boy."

Orlando gasped as the husky, desperate tone of Elijah's voice worked like a charm, and Elijah's lips assaulted him with a familiar refrain of cloves and spearmint.

"Fuck me tonight, Elwood," he whispered as Elijah slid his belt out of the way and worked his fly open. "I love it when you take control."

For Orlando, it was a surprisingly honest moment, and he was thrilled when Elijah ran with it.

"Not just going to fuck you, slut." Husky and desperate gave way to biting, raspy. Orlando moaned as Elijah dropped his trousers and boxer shorts for him and clenched his cock in a hard first. "Going to use you. Going to make you fucking beg for it, whether you know you want it or not. Going to make it hurt."

With those words, Orlando was putty in Elijah's hands, and he moaned his approval as he tried to remove Elijah's t-shirt.

Elijah stepped back.

"Want to earn my cock, slut?" Elijah sounded like a bad porn track, a parody of himself as he slid the t-shirt over his head and undid his fly. Orlando didn't care. Orlando nodded eagerly. "Then get to your knees and suck it."

Orlando dropped to the floor almost instantaneously, crawling forward eagerly to wrap his lips around the treat Elijah was offering, and mewled when Elijah's hand fisted hard in his hair.

Back in New Zealand, even if they had discovered such kinky games then, there would have been nothing for Elijah to hang onto. Now, however, Orlando's hair was grown out long for "Pirates," and Elijah directed with both hands, fueling the moans that spilled out around his cock.  
"Needy slut," Elijah admonished, but he was panting harshly, and Orlando knew he was getting the job done. "You make me want to beat the swagger right out of you, Orlando."

Orlando breathed in sharply through his nose, stumbling slightly in his task. Elijah had never said his name quite like _that_, and his entire existence was suddenly reduced to his own cock and his lips around Elijah's, with an overtone of the scent drifting into his nostrils.

"Did I say you were finished?"

Orlando immediately shut his eyes, couldn't concentrate with Elijah's pubic hair in soft focus in front of them, had to put his entire being to the task at hand if he was going to get out of this without angering Elijah any more than he already had. He licked up the base, suckled on the head, but Elijah was having none of it, and pushed him down—screw finesse, fuck style, Orlando was getting all Elijah had to offer, and he knew it. It was so cheesy, so pornographic, but he felt himself choking and it was beautiful.

"Get on your hands and knees," Elijah bit out, pushing Orlando off his cock, shoving him to the ground. He fell in a surprisingly elegant twisting motion, catching himself on his hands, getting caught up on the clothing that was still bunched around his ankles and kicking it away in frustration. He pushed back, presenting his arse, mentally begging Elijah to ream him. They had never let it play out this way, but he knew Elijah had it in him, knew what kind of danger was lurking beneath the surface. Elijah could be pretty fucking scary on the rare occasion that he really wanted to be, and Orlando wished he could bottle that. Elijah pushed two dry fingers in him, and he moaned for more.

"You pretty little whore," Elijah said nonchalantly, his tone sarcastic, his fingers jutting forward with a wicked little twist. "You think it's all about you, don't you? God, you're pathetic."

Orlando felt the sting of the words in conjunction with the curl of fingers against his prostate, blunt nails pushing, pushing. He was angry; he was humiliated; he was hungry. He begged.

"Please, Lijah. Please…"

Elijah laughed, cruel and hollow. Orlando felt like crying. He didn't.

"You can take it, bitch. Open up, sweetheart. Not like you've never done it before." Orlando sobbed as Elijah pushed inside. He might have been tearing him; Orlando wouldn't have cared.

"_Please_."

"Please what? Please fuck me, Elijah? Please rape me? Please use me? Be specific, Orlando. You dirty, fucking pathetic little whore."

"Oh God… please, yes."

"No."

Orlando groaned in pain, in denial, in need. Elijah pushed down on the back of his head, his forehead bit the cool tiles, and he waited. Elijah's cock remained firmly lodged in his arse, but it wasn't moving.

"Ask pretty, whore."

Elijah's hand slid underneath; fisted his cock. He groaned as the sensations surrounded him, felt his muscles loosening, and pumped into Elijah's fist with a needy whimper.

"Please, Elijah, God, please, love you, need it, need you…"

"Love me, do you? Don't think what you're feeling right now has much to do with love, sweetheart. Dirtier than that, isn't it?" Orlando sobbed. Orlando came.

"Please," Orlando whimpered, but now he didn't know what he was asking for, and Elijah wasn't going to give it. One hand on his lower back was a warning, keeping him down, keeping him from trying anything funny. Elijah pounded into him like he was a limp rag doll. Elijah pulled out before he came, and Orlando felt the strings of come painting his back, the crack of his arse. Elijah was cruel. Elijah was beautiful.

 

IV.

"You are such a slut." Elijah just smiled at Orlando's words. They both knew it wasn't true, knew that Elijah wasn't fucking anyone else at the moment, and the tone was affectionate. Still, Elijah's smile was a bit hollow. This wasn't the way he wanted to play tonight.

"You, too." Elijah kept up the affection until they were inside, though his guts burned with the urge to transition into "get on your fucking knees" mode. It had been much too long for Elijah. And he had wanted it like this ever since he saw Orlando Bloom and his pretty little pouting mouth and his confidently swaying hips. Tonight, Elijah would get it exactly how he wanted.

"Come on in. Can I get you anything?" Too easy, Elijah noted with a smirk.

"You. Too fucking long, Elf-boy." When their lips met in a veritable collision, Elijah was already thinking what he could do to this gorgeous piece of work, his Orlando. He sucked hard on Orlando's tongue and predictably cupped his arse but his thoughts went much darker tonight.

"Fuck me tonight, Elwood." The husky whisper had Elijah fighting not to grin, and Orlando's next line was straight out of a porno. Even in context, it sounded bad, but Elijah was willing to fuck the cheesy shtick out of him, and it gave him the information he needed.

"I love it when you take control."

Elijah's eyes went dark, he gave Orlando a glimpse of just how far he could go as he flicked open the other man's fly and dropped everything with cold efficiency. "Not just going to fuck you, slut." His tone was harsh, and he knew it. His hand around Orlando's cock was even harsher, but he had no intention of going back.

"Going to use you," Elijah promised, eyes dark with intent, hand brutal on Orlando's erection. "Going to make you fucking beg for it, whether you know you want it or not. Going to make it hurt."

So fucking predictable, Elijah thought as he felt hands grabbing desperately for the hem of his t-shirt. He was going to enjoy this.

"Want to earn my cock, slut?" Elijah nearly laughed at Orlando's nod, so fucking willing whether he knew it consciously or not. Elijah didn't care. Elijah just wanted to put him there. "Then get to your knees and suck it."

Elijah watched as Orlando immediately set to his task, an admirable effort and a very pretty picture, but Elijah wasn't in the mood for rewards tonight.

"Needy slut," Elijah reprimanded, watching his cock slide in and out of pretty pursed lips. His mood was growing ever darker, his confidence swelling to the surface like an unstoppable tide. "You make me want to beat the swagger right out of you, Orlando." He used the name like a trigger, a cue, and Orlando was a good actor. Elijah just grinned in triumph as Orlando fumbled for a moment, and then he jumped on it.

"Did I say you were finished?" Elijah's tone was harsh, unforgiving. An outsider would never guess that they were lovers. It might even be construed as a rape, and fuck if that didn't make Elijah hot, fueling his movements as he first shoved his cock down Orlando's needy throat and then pushed the man to the floor, eyes flashing as he watched him fall.

"Get on your hands and knees."

Elijah was jointly disgusted and aroused by how obviously Orlando presented his arse, the way he let Elijah finger-fuck him dry without any complaint. Whether he was cheating or not, whether or not he ever _had_ cheated, Orlando was a slut and Elijah wanted to punish him for it. He let the anger build, let himself picture the way Orlando walked around like he owned Hollywood now, and he allowed that anger and disgust, however superficial, to fuel his next move.

"You pretty little whore. You think it's all about you, don't you? God, you're pathetic."

A bit of it was acting, a bit was truth. Elijah pressed harder.

"Please, Lijah. Please…"

He laughed, coldly, at Orlando's entreaty. He channeled every villain he had ever seen in every film that had ever gotten to him. He snarled, and lined up.

"You can take it, bitch. Open up, sweetheart. Not like you've never done it before."

"_Please_."

Elijah could feel and hear Orlando's sobs as he fucked him, but he just pushed harder. His hand held the taller man by the hip, and Elijah opened him up with his cock, fucking him deeper than Elijah could ever remember having done. It had to be an adrenaline-fuelled illusion, but Elijah didn't care. He had a fantasy, and God damnit, it was going to get fulfilled.

"Please what?" Elijah spat out, grabbing Orlando by the shoulders now, lengthening his stroke. "Please fuck me, Elijah? Please rape me?" So close to home, Elijah thought. So fucking close. But this was Orlando, and he could be honest. "Please use me?" he continued, hissing as he felt his balls begin to tighten but controlled it as he had taught himself to do. "Be specific, Orlando. You dirty, fucking pathetic little whore."

"Oh God… please, yes."

Elijah almost choked on his need, and shook his head to ground himself.

"No."

Elijah shoved Orlando down, used the new stillness to calm himself, though the sight of Orlando's smooth cheek pressed against the carpet wasn't really helping matters.

"Ask pretty, whore," Elijah demanded, refocusing. He pumped Orlando's cock and let his own need fade to a dull roar.

"Please, Elijah, God, please, love you, need it, need you…"

Elijah snarled at the words, tightened his fist. "Love me, do you? Don't think what you're feeling right now has much to do with love, sweetheart." _Love you too_, his mind insisted, but it wasn't the time or the place for confessions. "Dirtier than that, isn't it?" _Love you in spite of this. Love you because of this_, Elijah added in his head as he felt Orlando spurt between his fingers and listened to him beg.

"Please."

Elijah braced Orlando's body firmly, and then he took him with everything he had. Took, took, took, because it was too painful to give. Came all over Orlando's beautiful skin, because it was too hard to implicate himself in Orlando's beauty. Too much to admit that they might be better off as one. Just, too much.

 

V.

It started with a photo shoot. Karl was surprised, but not unpleasantly so, when Viggo's hand slid across the sheet to grasp his own just before the shutter clicked during the "bed-in" shoot, their other hands held up in happy peace signs.

He was a little less surprised, later, in a hotel room in Japan, when Viggo followed him inside, his lips pressing roughly to Karl's. However, Karl didn't bottom. That was just the way it was going to be. And he had a feeling Viggo could handle that.

"Whore."

Karl's voice was rough, but impassioned, as he shoved Viggo to his knees. His second shove, this time at Viggo's chest, laid him out on the floor, sprawling as Karl straddled his face and ground down, hard, a denim-covered erection smashing against Viggo's facial features, catching on his nose, rasping against his lips.

"Let me get something straight for you, Mortensen. You want someone to dominate you, boy?"

Karl watched Viggo hesitate before he nodded, his nose grinding against the seam of Karl's jeans, and smirked.

"Well I'm not going to dom you all pretty like. I'm not a fucking BDSM handbook. You're just asking to be taken down, but I'm not going to do what you expect. You want someone to spank you, make you suck their cock, call you names and say dirty things while they fuck you, you won't get it with me."

Viggo groaned against Karl's jeans, his cock pressing hard into Viggo's face, making it difficult to breathe. Karl just snarled at him.

"I don't really feel much like giving you a choice, boy. But I'm going to, because I'm a nice guy," Karl announced, his voice dripping with irony. "You want this?"

He sat up slightly, allowing Viggo to take in a gasping breath before answering.

"Yes."

"Good." Karl yanked Viggo to his feet, quite unsteadily, and then shoved him hard into the opposite wall. Viggo rebounded, stumbled, was caught again in Karl's ready hands and thrown face first onto the bed.

"You know what fear is, Mortensen?"

Karl's question was punctuated by his fingers, digging into Viggo's mouth and choking him, at the same time sitting on his upper back so that he couldn't get in a breath, even if his airway wasn't restricted. Viggo gagged for a moment, Karl smirked, stroking the back of his neck, and finally slid his fingers out, letting Viggo take in a few choking breaths.

"I don't want to hurt you prettily, boy. I want to hurt you, choke you, tear you. I could beat your back, your arse, but it would take too much effort. I don't feel like wasting much effort on you, Mortensen. You're too easy."

Viggo whinged, and Karl yanked him up by the hair, arching his neck and back in a way that Viggo was once again having trouble breathing, but able to take in short, pained breaths. Karl grinned.

"I could leave you like this, boy. I could tie you like this, keep you alive but begging for air. I think I'll fuck you instead, though. I've got an urge to tear up this pretty little arse of yours."

"Karl, please… I don't…" Viggo's pleas were pained as Karl yanked down his trousers, and far too late.

Karl laughed.

"Begging's cute and all, Mortensen, but you don't get a fucking choice right now. Maybe I _want_ to rape you. Ever think of that? I'm calling the shots, and you don't get a fucking safe word."

Viggo cried out as Karl spread him open with his thumbs, needing several thrusts to get all the way inside the un-lubricated channel. Viggo was crying when Karl finally was able to get a good rhythm going, and he just laughed, cruelly, scratching his nails down Viggo's back.

The grip on Karl's cock was too much, and he knew he didn't have much time to prove his point, so he pushed Viggo's face into the mattress by the back of his head, feeling his protesting movements weaken as he struggled for air. Karl grinned as he pounded Viggo's arse, shooting his load inside and remaining where he was as he finally let Viggo breathe again. He ignored Viggo's cock, instead licking a stripe up the back of his neck, and emptying his half full bladder while he was still inside of him.

Viggo whinged in protest, but Karl just laughed and pulled out, smacking his full arse before getting dressed and heading to the other room to sleep. Viggo could take care of himself. Karl didn't care.

 

VI.

Viggo hadn't had any grand plans for the evening. He had his eye on Karl, sure, but it was really just the ease of the other man's posture, the way he held himself in the lift, that made Viggo impulsively follow him into his hotel room, slam their bodies together, and shove his tongue down Karl's throat.

He wasn't expecting what came next, but then he wasn't adverse to it, either. Karl's voice and Karl's eyes were like black magic. Viggo always responded.

"Whore."

Viggo's knees bit the carpet with a bit of a burn, and he had to think quickly when Karl shoved him again in the chest, swinging his legs around to the side so that he lay flat on his back when Karl dropped down over him, denim seam grinding into Viggo's face. His breaths came short, and his eyes went wide, but he still made no move to protest.

"Let me get something straight for you, Mortensen. You want someone to dominate you, boy?"

Viggo wasn't sure, exactly. He didn't have an answer ready for that, but then Karl's words held some amount of enticement. He had done such things before, and he certainly wouldn't mind with Karl. He tried to nod, and felt the strain in his neck. Felt Karl laughing at him.

"Well I'm not going to dom you all pretty like. I'm not a fucking BDSM handbook. You're just asking to be taken down, but I'm not going to do what you expect. You want someone to spank you, make you suck their cock, call you names and say dirty things while they fuck you, you won't get it with me."

Viggo wanted to protest that he wouldn't really object to what Karl was describing, that he had had it before and would be willing to try for a second go, but Karl clearly wasn't buying it. Viggo tried to make a noise, and just got laughed at. Karl's hazel eyes were almost flashing, cruel, waiting for him to make a mistake. He whimpered and there was no recourse.

"I don't really feel much like giving you a choice, boy. But I'm going to, because I'm a nice guy." Viggo felt like choking back a laugh; couldn't do anything with Karl sitting on his face. "You want this?"

Viggo inhaled greedily when Karl finally gave him to chance, and considered refusing, considered walking out the door, but he didn't think Karl was really going to let him. Besides, he was harder than fuck and something needed to be done about that.

"Yes," he agreed, simply, his eyes meeting Karl's.

"Good."

Viggo tripped as he was dragged to his feet, felt like a pinball trapped in its little glass prison as he ricocheted from Karl to wall to Karl again and finally to the bed, where he didn't have a chance to catch his breath even before Karl was reaching for his mouth with two fingers, jamming them into the back of his throat. Viggo's whole body went tense, and his eyes went wide. He had heard of asphyxiation kinks before, but this wasn't sexy. This was frightening.

"You know what fear is, Mortensen?"

'You sick fuck!' he wanted to answer, but of course he couldn't. Karl's fingers on the back of his neck were oddly soothing, a strange juxtaposition. Later, Viggo would write a poem about this moment.

"I don't want to hurt you prettily, boy." ('Arrogant arse,' Viggo wanted to proclaim.) "I want to hurt you, choke you, tear you. I could beat your back, your arse, but it would take too much effort. I don't feel like wasting much effort on you, Mortensen. You're too easy."

Karl was a bit melodramatic for Viggo's taste, but he was still terrified. He still had the fear of God in him as Karl bent him back into another version of discomfort, and he still had to bite back the urge to cry.

"I could leave you like this, boy," Karl warned, and Viggo was truly frightened. "I could tie you like this," he continued, "keep you alive but begging for air. I think I'll fuck you instead, though. I've got an urge to tear up this pretty little arse of yours."

Viggo knew he had to get out now; knew this wasn't what he was asking for. He had never wanted _this._ "Karl, please… I don't…"

Karl clearly didn't care what Viggo wanted, and his laughter was hollow and bitter as his hands yanked down Viggo's trousers. Viggo gritted his teeth and prepared himself for the worst.

"Begging's cute and all, Mortensen, but you don't get a fucking choice right now. Maybe I _want_ to rape you. Ever think of that?" Viggo gulped, knowing the answer. "I'm calling the shots, and you don't get a fucking safe word."

The fucking was brutal, and Viggo couldn't hold back the tears. His brain was already shutting down, unwilling to process what was happening to him. He would never go out of his way to get sex like this again, never let a man fuck him, never…

His brain overflowed with "nevers" as Karl went back to choking him, and Viggo briefly wondered if he'd ever get the chance to see them through. The world went a little hazy, the room began to spin, and his senses were reduced to the painful pound and throb of Karl's cock up his arse, not uncomfortable but truly _painful_. Viggo cried from relief when Karl finally came, and he didn't even care about his own cock, barely hard now. He sobbed harder when he felt a second warm stream fill his abused hole, this time steady and sickening, and Karl's laughter made him wish he could sic Sean Bean on the Kiwi, have his friend rearrange Karl's face.

The parting smack was loud in the fuzzy half-consciousness of Viggo's brain, and his felt the fluids jostle around inside him, leaking out onto the foreign duvet. Viggo wondered if he'd ever stop crying.


End file.
